Spring Break in Hell A lot of college kids go to Florida for spring break. Some take a long plane flight to Hawaii or Guam or possibly Andorra. I've had my fun, been on breaks where partying is the only order of business, and to tell you the truth, I thought it was getting kind of old. Not only do you fail to accomplish anything, you end up getting back more tired and washed out than when you left. This vacation was going to be different. This time, I was going to get my wisdom teeth extracted and spend the whole week lounging around the house really relaxing. I couldn't wait. So I woke up early Monday morning at nine, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready for some real spring break fun. I made sure not to eat or drink anything, and my mom took me down to the doctor's office because I was told I wouldn't be fit to drive after the surgery when I made the appointment. Imagine my surprise when the following dialog ensued upon entering the office: "Hi, I'm Chris Boraski, here for my appointment." "Umm. Okay. Be with you in a moment." The glass door slides shut, closing all further communication. I take a seat and wait for some response. A few minutes later, the glass door slides open and a head peeks out." "Umm. Did you have an appointment?" "Yes." "Just wanted have the teeth checked, then?" "Nope, I'm here to have three wisdom teeth pulled." "Have you ever been here before?" "Yes!" At this point I should have just walked out of there, cut my losses, and driven down to Florida. But I have my pride, and I really planned on enjoying the extraction, so I stuck it out. The nurse walked away and came back a minute or two later. "Okay, I've found your file, and I talked to the doctor, and he said he'd squeeze you in between the 9:15 and the 9:30." "You sure you don't want me to come back another time?" "No, as long as you have mon.. er I mean, no, now is quite convenient." "Oh...Okay...I guess." So I'm shuttled into the doctor's office and plopped down in the chair. The nurse straps me in and pulls up an x-ray I had gotten a few weeks ago. The doctor rushes in, finishing his coffee, and takes a quick look at the x-ray. "Dum-de-dum-de-dum. Okay. Right. So it'll be two lowers and the upper right wisdom teeth correct." "Actually, I think you've got the x-ray upside-down, doctor." "Right, right. That nurse is a crazy cat this early in the morning, eh? Okay then, both uppers, and the lower left." "Yeah, something like that." I was starting to feel like just another bad muffler in a Midas shop, but this wasn't the first time I've been subjected to less than perfect customer service so I took it with a grain of salt. Meanwhile, the nurse had been hooking me up to the IV and was having a hard time getting the oxygen tubes in my nose. The doctor had to help her out with that one. "So you see: In the nose, and then around the ears. Got it now?" "I think so," replies the nurse. I'm getting worried. The doctor addresses me: "Now that we've got the IV in, the worst of this is over. You should be starting to feel the anesthetics now." "I think I'm starting to feel someth..." and I started drifting into an alternate reality. Just before I finally did pass out I noticed the doctor taking out a rusty, vintage WWI dental drill. Then again, I was pretty drugged up, so it was probably just the work of an overly active imagination. I awoke in what seemed like only a few moments. Nothing but smiles greeted me from both the nurse and the doctor, and I couldn't help thinking that they were just a little bit too happy about something. They showed me the door and mom's limo service delivered me to my bed to get some recuperation. However my resting was to be quite short lived, as friend after friend came pouring into my room. I felt as if all of my friends were lemmings and my doorway was the edge of the cliff. Most would ask me how I feel and wish me well. Some of the nicer ones would laugh in my general direction, call me chipmunk face and tell me to get better, or else. People actually came over who I had never met before. All of them thought that these displays of caring would lead to a quick recovery, undoubtedly so I could return their favors just as speedily. How very wrong they were. On the day after the surgery one of my visitors noticed that my left cheek had ballooned to gargantuan proportions. Being a testosterone-laden pain-killer-resisting Mighty-Morphin Power Arnold gave me the flexibility to reply that it had "swelled a bit." After he left, a look in the bathroom mirror made me realize that, in all actuality, my cheek had annexed the Sudatenland. My rational side told me that all I needed was a little rest and everything would be fine in the morning. It sure is funny how rationalism goes out the window when you wake up at 6:30 AM, bleeding and in intense pain. I went over to the bathroom only to find out that my dad prefers not to use the master bath for his excrementorial functions, so I waited it out until he finished up and then went inside to assess my situation. I wasn't dead yet, and I knew I had to stop the bleeding so I grabbed a piece of gauze and placed it carefully over the wound in the lower jaw. Biting down on this seemingly innocuous bundle of white fibers highlighted my pain as A1 sauce enhances the flavor of a steak. I was on a new level, one that I had never seen before, one that is usually the sole privilege of mothers delivering babies and maybe a few lucky victims. At this point I had a visitor's pass to hell's corporate offices. Lucky man that I am, the first person I meet is the CEO. His face was a picture of innocence, but his voice was quite a different story. A bone-jarring conglomeration of Darth Vader, Freddie, and John Denver offered me two options: "Go it alone and take your chances, or sign this little piece of paper to give me posthumous property rights to your soul and I'll make sure you live, this time." I was desperate and shivering on the bathroom floor, so I pulled out the gauze and signed with great alacrity. Just then my parents came to the door asking if I was okay, and the vision vanished. A few minutes later, my second visit to the office found me meeting a completely different doctor and nurse. I was pumped with novocain and a vesiconstrictor, and given a prescription for an antibiotic to treat the infection. I couldn't resist asking the question: "What happened to the other doctor that did my surgery?" "Oh, him. Umm. He's on vacation in Florida." Now it's a couple of days later, and the antibiotics have brought the swelling down considerably. I feel pretty good, and I know that it's just a matter of time before I'm completely healed. I think now that Satan was just an apparition, but I'll never be sure until I'm six feet under. Until then let me offer you a little bit of advice: If you want a relaxing and cost effective vacation of oral extraction you should pick up a pair of needlenose pliers, a self-help book, and some nuclear strength pain killers, and yank the damn things yourself. Chris Boraski.